


Do You Really Wanna Go

by Loracine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, song!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 11:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6852067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loracine/pseuds/Loracine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an AU where Sam never left Stanford with Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You Really Wanna Go

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the [SPN Writing Challenge](http://spnwritingchallenge.tumblr.com/): May 2016 on Tumblr.  
> | loracine vs ~~thing-you-do-with-that-thing~~ [for-the-love-of-chuck](http://for-the-love-of-chuck.tumblr.com/) |  
>  Prompt: Say It Right by Nelly Furtado

_In the day, in the night. Say it right, say it all. You either got it or you don't. You either stand or you fall…_

"Yeah."

"Boy, you better have a good reason for ducking me," Bobby grumbled.

Fuck. He'd answered without checking caller ID. He should have ditched the number weeks ago. "You got a case for me," he asked.

"No, I want to know what the hell's going on," he demanded.

"That mean there's no case," Dean pressed.

"No, but your father…"

He hung up, tossing the phone into the passenger seat. It bounced onto the floor with a thunk and started ringing again.

_In the day, in the night. Say it right, say it all. You either got it or you don't. You either stand or you fall. When your will is broken. When it slips from your hand. When there's no time for joking. There's a hole in the plan._

"Goddamnit," he cursed and leaned down. The thing went silent before he could get his hand on it. He turned it off anyways.

Two weeks later he finally turned it back on. He was nursing two cracked ribs, a broken finger, and the last vestiges of a nasty concussion. Strictly speaking, he shouldn't be driving yet, but hunting alone had its drawbacks and having no one to take the wheel was one of them. There were over two dozen missed calls from Singer's Salvage and another bunch from Ellen over at the Roadhouse. He liked Jo and Ellen hated that he liked Jo. Ellen never accepted that Dean saw her daughter as a bothersome little sister and not another potential piece of ass. Frankly, he was too scared of the tough as nails mother behind the bar, with her shotgun, to try anything. With a sigh he turned towards Nebraska.

The night was just warming up when he pulled in to the dirt lot. The last few days hadn't exactly been fun, but he hadn't tried pushing himself too hard to get here. Even so, he had to shield his ribs as he heaved the heavy car door open and then closed once he stepped out.

Ellen started pouring him a pint as soon as he stepped through the door, setting the glass at his spot on the bar. "Did you kill it," she asked without commenting on the livid bruises covering one side of his face.

Dean grunted.

"That bad, huh," she remarked and walked to the other end where customers were waiting to order.

_In the day, in the night. Say it…_

He hit the power button as soon as the screen lit up.

"You know, your daddy made a mistake," she began. He hadn't even heard her coming back.

Dean put up a hand to silence her. "Stop right there," he said.

"Or what? You'll walk out of here too and never come back, Dean?" It was a fair question. The Roadhouse was one of the last places he had left to turn to, of his own choice. Since the fiasco at Sam's wedding four years ago, Dean had been steadily whittling down on his list of allies. He'd started by conveniently forgetting the numbers for anyone who had known where John had disappeared to, or even why. Not one of them had fessed up to the fact that the bastard ditched Dean for a wife and kid in the suburbs. John had never been a traditional sort of father, more like a drill sergeant. That didn't mean Dean had thought for one second that he'd chuck his oldest son like a sack of trash as soon as the younger golden boy was safely to Stanford. Then the two of them proceeded to make it abundantly it clear that they wanted Dean to get lost and stay gone. He just hadn't put the clues together, hadn't considered they didn't have their own separate reasons to skip out on him. Guess without Sam to care for the big brother Dean had molded himself into no longer had a use.

He threw some money on the bar and got up. "Thanks for the drink, Ellen," he offered as he headed for the door.

"You better call me," Ellen scolded as she wiped the rings of condensation off the bar top.

He didn't get outside. In fact, he only got a few steps away from the bar before a khaki jacket blocked his way. He looked up into familiar blue eyes with a salt and pepper beard. The man was deliberately in his path, his mouth set in a hard line of determination. That wasn't what got John laid out on the floor holding his jaw, though. No. He had the audacity to grab Dean's arm as he moved to step around the older man to the door.

Dean balled up his fist and it felt awesome as he connected. He didn't even feel the broken ends of his second metacarpal bone grinding together with the force of his punch. John landed on his back on the rough floor with a groan. "Yellow Eyes is dead. I put one between the bastard's eyes and he's not coming back. Thought you'd like to know," he told John and then stepped over him.

"Ellen," Dean called out with a wave. Then he was out the door. He wasn't going to be back here anytime soon. It was a shame. Ash made a mean burger the rare times Dean could talk him into manning the grill.

He'd thrown himself behind the wheel, motor purring when John staggered out of the Roadhouse yelling his name. "Dean!"

Dean slammed his foot on the gas and peeled out of the parking lot before he's tempted to do more damage. He had finished a vamp nest, a ghoul hunt, and a few other nasties before he heard anything more on the subject of his has-been family.

_In the day, in the night. Say it right, say it all. You either got it or you don't. You either stand or you fall. When your will is broken. When it slips from your hand. When there's no time for joking. There's a hole in the plan._

He groaned.

_In the day, in the night. Say it right, say it all. You either got it or you don't. You either stand or you fall. When your will is broken. When it slips from your hand. When there's no time for joking. There's a hole in the plan._

"Mother of fuck," he grouched and threw it across the room. He didn't check to make sure the phone shattered when it struck the wall. Dean just rolled over, his one aspiration at the moment as simple as getting back to sleep until he was no longer haggard from the dearth of rest and about to fall over at any moment. That rugaru had nearly snuffed him out and he needed to finally get some sleep or he'd never heal.

_In the day, in the night. Say it right, say it all. You either got it or you don't. You either stand or you fall. When your will is broken. When it slips from your hand. When there's no time for joking. There's a hole in the plan._

He hadn't even closed his eyes when it started ringing again. He threw back the covers, stumbled over to the phone, and snatched the plastic device up off the floor. It was a California number he didn't recognize. "What," he growled.

The line was quiet for a moment except for the low hum of a crowd in the background and just when he was about to hang up Sam started talking. "Dean, please don't hang up," he blurted out. He sounded just like he had eight years ago, the one time he'd picked up the phone when Dean had called. Sam had callously advised Dean to stay out of his life from that point on. He hadn't wanted Dean's uncouth mannerisms and off-color jokes to disillusion his new friends. After a few more desperate tries to stay in his baby brother's life, he had withdrawn and for the last time given his brother exactly what he asked for.

"Give me one reason," he snarled. What he wanted to do was demand some answers. He wanted to know what made him so unworthy, and not John. Had Dean really been that awful as a brother that Sam didn't want his shiny new family to even know he existed?

"Dean, I'm sorry," he said softly.

Dean's smile was brittle in the dark motel room. "I know I wouldn't exactly fit in with your posh friends, Sam, but the least you could of done was let me try instead of being too ashamed of your own brother to even admit you had one. Not even to your precious wife. Don't call again," he said and hung up.

Sam got out, "Dean," in a yell pushed from his lungs before the call disconnected.

Dean turned off the phone and tossed its smashed pieces in the trash with a satisfying plop. He moved on in the morning, purchasing another burner at the next gas station he saw.

He managed to dodge the estranged former family for another year, but he had to cut all ties. He hunted alone. He researched alone. As far as he knew, no one from John's circle of contacts would have the slightest clue how to go about reaching Dean or finding him, because they had no idea how to reach him either. Dean couldn't operate in a complete vacuum, though. There were very few places that genuine blessed iron rounds could be obtained in bulk, or most of the other things he hauled around in Baby's trunk. Ordering custom weapons in a hurry and with some seriously weird modifications raised too many questions to go through normal channels. He was limited to people in life, or those who knew about it, in order to obtain the tools he needed to gank him some fuglies. He couldn't stop hunting. It was all he had left to get him out of bed in the mornings.

He carelessly stumbled into an intervention at Gerry's cabin a while later. Dean had been called there to pick up a load of medical supplies and found five people waiting for him instead. Gerry was AWOL. The craven little fucker was going to catch hell when Dean got out of this. The muscles in his jaw were ticking as he stared them all down; Bobby, Ellen, Pastor Jim, John, and Sam. It had been maybe a year since he'd seen, or talked to, any of them, and to a man, and woman, they looked suitably guilty, but not contrite. No, that would be asking for too much. Dean gave the room a quick sweep and turned on his heel. He was intercepted by Caleb stepping between him and the door. Oh, that's how they'd known where he'd be. Turn coat.

"Get out of my way," he ground out.

Caleb crossed his arms. "Nuhuh. Not until you hear us out," he replied.

Dean's fist curled and uncurled at his side. He turned around to face the three men and one stern looking woman seated in a semi-circle in the little ramshackle cabin. "You know, I used to think family meant something. I thought the family business meant something. Saving people, hunting things. Turns out, it was all a big joke on me. The first opportunity my family, my blood got you both ditched me. Was I dead weight, Sam? John?" John flinched at the sound of his name. "You abandoned me so you could get your second chance without the good little soldier weighing you both down. Right?! So, go live your life. You got what you wanted. Me out of your hair. Enjoy it. And leave me the hell alone," he spat and shoved his way past Caleb to get out the door. He only felt a little twinge of guilt when Caleb collided with the opposite wall, hard. The man should have known when to get out of his way.

He didn't get far, though. Definitely not as far as Baby's hood gleaming in the sunlight. A rough hand, large and calloused seized him from behind and the fight was on. Dean's knuckles were split and bloody by the time it was over, face mashed into the dirt as a knee dug into the small of his back. It had taken three of them to bring him down and not one had escaped without injury. But, he was finally down, pinned. Sam was sitting on his back, John had his legs, and Caleb had a deathgrip on his arms. It was taking all three to hold him.

Dean growled, like a wild animal.

John was speaking low, "…with us, Dean? Please, say something. Anything."

"Fuck off."

Sam made a hurt sound, his hand shifting in the short hairs at the back of Dean's neck.

Pastor Jim started talking from off to his right, his voice even and oh so reasonable. "I know you're hurting, son, but this has gone on long enough. Don't you think your family should have a chance to earn your forgiveness?" Ever the shepherd.

As angry as he was with the pastor for joining in this little farce, Dean couldn't bring himself to treat him poorly. Maybe it was the devout man of the cloth persona that had been so central to Pastor Jim since Dean had first toddled his little brother over the chapel stoop. Maybe it was a lifetime of being able to call the rectory his sanctuary, where he'd always been welcome. Many times in the past years he had sought refuge in Blue Earth to patch his wounds and carry on with the good fight. Pastor Jim hadn't once turned him away, no matter what mood he'd arrived in. Dean didn't know. Whatever it was, he couldn't seem to shake it and it cool his anger just a little, enough to keep him from snapping at the man. It didn't change his answer, though. "No," he replied softly. He could hold a grudge same as any other man, and he had a hell of a reason.

Bobby grumbled, "Balls. I told ya this might not be the best idea. Boy's damned stubborn."

Dean was heading for fucking Mexico. Spanish couldn't be that different from Latin. Contrary to Sam's low opinion of his mental acuity, he could learn and heading south would be a damned sight better than endlessly looking over his shoulder for an ambush by the share and care committee. "Let me up," he demanded and nearly managed to buck Sam off of his torso.

Sam squeaked but held on. "Dean, please. Big brother…"

"You don't get to call me that, Sam," he cut in. "You can't have everything. Grow the fuck up."

"I want my De'n back," he replied softly.

"He's dead. Salted and burned his bones," Dean told him and managed to yank his arms a few inches closer to his face while Caleb glared at the crown of his head.

He knew by the quality of Sam's voice that he was crying. "I'm so sorry, Dean," he said while his free hand curled gently in his dirty blonde hair. "I'm sorry…sorrypleasei'msorry…pleasepleaseplease…i'msorrysosorry," he mumbled around his tears. Every so often he would hiccup, interrupting the stream. The back of Dean's neck was getting damp and beginning to itch.

"What do you need," he asked, resigned that it might be a bit before he could get free without seriously injuring anyone.

"Wh-what," Sam stuttered.

Dean sighed. "Eight years and here you are. You wouldn't be here if you didn't need something from me. So, out with it," he explained tiredly.

Ellen spoke up then. "We've been hounding your tail for a while, son, and you know it," she chided.

Sam was still whispering apologies, lips pressed to the back of Dean's skull like he could somehow will the insidious words to seep into Dean's brain and make themselves a home there.

Dean closed his eyes and went limp, no longer straining against the hands holding him down. "I'll give you ten minutes, but no one but Sam or John says a single goddamn word. And you have to let me up first," he conceded.

There was a pause and he knew each person was weighing the likelihood of Dean bolting as soon as he was free. He didn't blame them. It was a tempting thought. Yet, somehow they'd wrung a promise from him and Dean never went back on his word. He'd give them their ten minutes and then he'd be on his way.

The hands, and knee, holding him down lifted all at once. He sprung to his feet in a fighting stance, eying them all warily like they'd cornered a wild animal instead of a man. "Start talking," he demanded, glaring at the two shuffling Winchesters. Their eyes were downcast, fixed on their feet, and they looked extremely uncomfortable. Good.

Ellen gestured towards the cabin. "Why don't we all go inside," she suggested.

Dean shook his head. He'd told them ten minutes. Chairs weren't going to be necessary. "You got nine minutes now," he informed them and Sam's eyes went wide. Apparently he hadn't expected Dean to hold them to his time limit. Too bad.

"When I found out about Adam I screwed up. I wanted to keep hunting as far away from him as possible," John said.

Right. Now he'd gotten it in his head to try to be a father. It was a little late in the game for that. Guess he couldn't concentrate on the new kid with the old one hanging around. Made sense. If you were John Winchester.

John shrugged, "I thought if I didn't send you anymore hunts that you might settle down somewhere."

Geez, he actually looked like he believed that crock of shit he just tried to shovel down Dean's gullet. Dean chuckled, but it was harsh. "Six minutes."

"De'n," Sam choked out. "I thought that in order to leave the hunt behind that I had to leave you too. I was wrong. I hurt us both for nothing."

Dean sniffed, like he didn't believe them. Four minutes. Was this all they were going to say?

Sam didn't know what to do with that. He was staring at Dean expectantly with his puppy dog eyes like this was the point of the story where he was supposed to break down into a sobbing mess. Then they'd make up and start singing kumbaya by the campfire. One little problem, it wasn't happening. John let the silence stand for a moment as his youngest gaped with nothing more to say and in serious denial if he thought such a mediocre apology could fix anything. Then he dove in to the rescue like the fly right father he should have been all those years ago. "I, uh, Kate and I moved out to California, to be closer to Sammy. His little girl, Julia, is ten months old now. She's beautiful and I know you'd love her. You've always been good with kids. You would have made a wonderful father, Dean. Anyways, we have Sunday dinner every week as a family. Will you come?"

"Family," Dean sneered, even though he really did want to see the newest Winchester addition. It wasn't a good idea, though. "Time's up," he said and turned on his heel to settle behind Baby's steering wheel.

Sam was pounding on the window in no time, "Dean, please. Just think about it. Don't make the same mistake."

He looked at the frantic desolation in Sam's eyes and he was sad. Sad that their lives had come to this. They'd been so close growing up, inseparable. He looked right into those kaleidoscope hazel eyes and nodded once. Then he gunned the engine, her roar drowning out his own whirling thoughts. He'd think about it.

**Author's Note:**

> Nelly Furtado  
> Say it Right
> 
> In the day, in the night  
> Say it right, say it all  
> You either got it or you don't  
> You either stand or you fall
> 
> When your will is broken  
> When it slips from your hand  
> When there's no time for joking  
> There's a hole in the plan
> 
> Oh, you don't mean nothing at all to me  
> No, you don't mean nothing at all to me  
> But you got what it takes to set me free  
> Oh, you could mean everything to me
> 
> I can't say (say) that I'm not (not) at a loss (loss) and at fault (fault)  
> I can't say (say) that I don't (don't) love the light (light) and the dark  
> I can't say that I don't (don't) know that I am alive and I love what I feel (feel)  
> I could show (show you) you tonight, you tonight
> 
> Oh, you don't mean nothing at all to me  
> No, you don't mean nothing at all to me  
> But you got what it takes to set me free  
> Oh, you could mean everything to me
> 
> From my hands I could give you something that I made  
> From my mouth I could sing you another brick that I laid  
> From my body (from my body) I could show you (I could show you) a place (a place) God knows (that only God knows)  
> You should know, this space is holy (oh oh oh oh)  
> Do you really wanna go? (two, three, four)


End file.
